The Black Shirt
by Fernin
Summary: (Second person 'you' and Lyra non-clopfic) Lyra's been staying with you for a week now and seems to be settling in well. But now it's laundry day and strangely enough you can't seem to locate your favorite black shirt. Where could it be? Maybe Lyra knows...


**The Black Shirt**

_A My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfic_

By Fernin

_As usual, I don't own this stuff; Hasbro etc does. That's good, because I have no idea what I would do with it if I did._

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"Where is it? I'm sure I left it where I usually toss it…" You wander around the living room for the third time, muttering angrily to yourself. Where the hell is your favorite black shirt?

After the fourth aimless circuit around the room, you collapse onto the couch and groan in wordless frustration. This was _supposed_ to be an easy Saturday afternoon- but like so many other things in your life, the appearance of a certain cute little green unicorn has injected confusion, complication, and chaos into even the calm, detergent-scented hours of Laundry Day.

You wrack your brains but as far as you can tell you've looked everywhere that the shirt could possibly be: you looked in the living room's laundry corner. You've looked on the couch where you sometimes drape your socks if you can't be bothered to lob them to the laundry corner. You've even checked the kitchen and- as a last resort- the laundry room. The only place you haven't looked is the… the bedroom.

Eureka! Your shirt must have somehow ended up in the bedroom. You hadn't even thought of going there… now that the room basically isn't yours any more. After you and Lyra had stopped screaming in shock following her sudden appearance in your living room, you'd let her use the bedroom (after all, you were more partial to your overstuffed couch in the living room anyway, and it's not like your clothes ever quite made it to the closet). While your mother might turn up her nose at your slovenly ways and mutter about how you should be more like your younger sister, she certainly wouldn't be able to fault your chivalry.

Of course, that still doesn't explain how your favorite shirt would have disappeared from the laundry corner and ended up in a room you haven't been in for a week, but it's the only stone left unturned before you break out the crow bar and start pulling up floorboards. You crane your neck over the slightly Febreeze-smelling upholstery of the couch and shout for your new trans-dimensional roommate. "Lyra!"

There's no answer, but perhaps Lyra just didn't hear you through the door. She's been in there for the better part of the day. You wonder vaguely if perhaps you shouldn't have shown her how to use your computer to get on the internet but… eh, too late now.

You wait a bit longer, but after a minute or two there's still no reply from the little pony. Well, nothing for it. You take a deep breath and try again. "LYYYRRAAAAAA! Have you seen my shirt?"

Again, there's no reply. Just as you're about to shout for a third time or maybe even consider getting up to see if Lyra is okay, the soft, reedy voice of the unicorn floats through the bedroom's closed door. "What? Uh… which shirt?"

You bite back a waspish response. Which shirt? _Which shirt?!_ The shirt of shirts! The shirt she's seen you wearing day after day! Your _favorite black shirt!_ "The black one!"

"Uh- oh! Y-yes…" Lyra calls back, her voice cracking slightly.

Well, that's odd. She seems strangely reluctant to respond. Did she… wait. She didn't _tear_ the shirt did she? Oh no. Oh, no. Oh- no, no remain calm. The shirt is probably fine. You cough and force away horrifying thoughts of negligent or aggravated shirt-icide and manage to keep your voice level for your next request. "So you've seen it. Do you know where it is?"

Lyra clears her throat nervously. "It's in here, in the bedroom. Er… could you come here?"

All right. Enough is enough. Grumbling again, you climb off the couch and stomp up to the door, throwing it open as you prepare to give the unicorn a piece of your m-

Your m…

"...MmmmmLyra?" you ask distractedly, staring at the tableau before you. If you didn't know any better, you'd think Lyra was trying to seduce you. The lights in the room are low. Your computer's music player is running, sending quiet saxophone music dripping out of the speakers with all the sultry, languid sensuousness that it can manage. And there, on the nicely made bed, is the mare herself.

"Yes?" Lyra purrs. She looks up at you, golden eyes glittering as a gentle smile graces her lips. She's seated on the bed, almost kneeling in a way that definitely should not be possible for an equine creature.

The little unicorn's tail flicks and she shifts slightly under your disbelieving gaze. The careless movement causes your black shirt- almost a robe on her- to slide slowly of her withers on one side, exposing the soft green pelt beneath. The shirt glides down further and your eyes follow it as it exposes a bit of what on a human would be her chest.

And speaking of exposed… you wrench your eyes off their trajectory and up to Lyra's face again. She licks her lips and smiles, blushing cutely but you stay focussed. "Lyra. Why are you wearing my favorite shirt?"

Lyra bites her lip. "Why… don't you like it?"

Do you like it? What kind of question is that to ask? You draw a ragged breath. Is the room suddenly warm in here, or is it just you? "I… I love it, Lyra. It's the best thing that ever happened to me."

The little unicorn seems almost ready to collapse onto the mattress with relief. "Oh… that's good. I was afraid you'd be grossed out…"

"Grossed out? Of course not." You shake your head, chuckling lightly. "How could I be, after all we've been through together?"

Almost hesitantly, you reach out towards the unicorn pony. You can't believe you're doing this. Lyra tenses, but her shivering frame soon quiets under your warm, careful touch. You move one hand slowly down the exposed side of her withers. She leans forward, ready to melt into your arms…

At which point you grasp your shirt and deftly tug it up and over her head. You hug the slightly pony-scented and definitely you-scented shirt to your chest and nuzzle it affectionately. "Ooh, my little darling. I thought I'd lost you! Come with me, my love!"

You're sure your shirt would say something suitably romantic about you and it being made for each other, but unfortunately some rude unicorn pony picks this exact moment to start shouting about leading a girl on and toying with emotions and some such nonsense. But what do you care? You have your favorite shirt back and now you can get on with the really important things: LAUNDRY! HUZZAH!

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**A/N: **_I may have been sillier than I should have been while writing this one. Ah well. The intent was to do a parody of those "second person greentext" things where the reader has some sort of saucy interactions with some character or other, if you hadn't already gathered. Well, I had fun with it, anyway._


End file.
